


If they won`t fight with us, we shall make them remember us

by harrietrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Background Les Amis de l'ABC, Barricades, But like minimum amount of fluff, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Les Misérables References, Pre-Barricade, Suspense, brick - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietrose/pseuds/harrietrose
Summary: It`s the night before the rebellion. The boys have been ready for so long, looking to the day - the day which Grantaire dreads above all.A lot of angst, Enjolras & Grantaire argue, yet something is resolved.
Relationships: Enjolras & Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 4





	If they won`t fight with us, we shall make them remember us

Only Joly and Bossuet took any notice of him- the rest were busy planning the barricade after all. 

C square were running around planning the location, aiming for the most optimal, central place. Combeferre worried - he always did, Courfeyrac mused, but this was more anxious, tense worrying, not the friendly type he usually preoccupied himself with. He was well aware that any detail, no matter how small, could affect whether or not his friends were alive after tomorrow, and that shook him to his core. He was more than used to being responsible for lives, but this was different. This was a movement, a rebellion. More importantly, it was his friends. 

Courfeyrac was on the other hand unusually serious. He was never far from a smile, and he still wasn`t. Even so, the usually impish boy was gone, and every impulse decision and cheek he`d ever known was replaced with an uncharacteristic focus. He flirted no more, partook in no drinking. He was calm, to Combeferre`s relief, and reliable beyond measure. 

Jehan had been shining for ages, but he was positively burning now. For weeks, he had talked only about the rights of the people - wept with the woman, cried for the child, but above all, there was a steadfast longing, a patient excitement. Above all, he trusted the outcome, he had faith in the People. And for that and for these, he`d gladly give his life ten times over if needed. 

Feuilly too shared his sentiments. He`d seen the conditions of his working friends, and he could tolerate it no more. He was as ready as he`d ever felt to live or die among his friends. 

Bahorel had left early, eager to spark a fire once more amongst the students. He was aware that many were still undecided, but he was sure that when the time came they`d join. The people would surely join. He wasn`t scared, like many of the others - he`d been to far too many a bar brawl for that. Still, beneath the off-hand, casual approach, he was as excited as the others, not only for the fighting, but for the winning. He wanted to see a free France as much as the other did.

And Enjolras - he was even more on fire than usual. Grantaire thought he had already seen the limit of the man`s seriousness, but he was much mistaken. He shared none of Combeferre`s anxiousness, nor Bahorel`s excitement for the brawl. He was resolute, distant, charming, yet a shadow rested on his brow. All of the revolution, that is, every aspect of it seemed to have taken residence in his brain, where they had dwelled for so long. Even now, at this late hour, his stride was great, his gaze unwavering. All of this was common - but the warmth in his voice when he spoke to Grantaire was not. 

The drunkard wished that it was himself that inspired this warmth, extension of friendship. He doubted it. The fire of revolution warmed Enjolras as much as it set fire to Jehan, and still, it only contributed to his gracefulness. As much as he was reluctant to admit it, he was silenced in awe. 

Grantaire - the cynic - was the only one filled to the brim with dread. For years he`d seen the day approaching. More often that not, he could avoid it, given there was enough alcohol in his blood. Today was not such a case. He`d taken to the bottle soon after he`d woken, not bearing to think of what the night would bring. 

For all his rhetoric, all his arguments on the foolishness of young boys, of all the logic he presented on the national guard, none would listen. He`d argued with Enjolras near every night recently, but Apollo was adamant. They would win, or die trying. 

"But will the city remember? Will it matter?" he asked, carefully masking his desperation. 

"They will come to us," Enjolras instisted, blue eyes electric. "Paris will come to our aid."

"But what if..." he trailed off.

"If what?" He was daring him to say, Grantaire realized. The man was certainly as passionate as he was analytical. 

"What if they don`t come, Enjolras. What will you do then? What if all of Paris sleeps and forgets? Your lives will be wasted," he shouted. 

It was the first time he`d uttered that argument. He realized his mistake instantly. It was clear that none of his friends had given that option much thought - the silence following his outburst was enough of a statement. Enjolras sensed the same. The uncertainty in the air was positively tangible. 

"They will remember us," Enjolras declared. The people looked afraid, dejected. "Maybe not at first," he continued. "They will be eager to forget, that is certain. But those of us who witness - the women who will not fight, those who have families, they will be sure to remember." There was a dramatic pause as he realized people were looking to him, all but begging for hope. 

"Citizens, now is the time. How long shall we wait before we take to the streets? How can we live, witnessing our fellow men`s suffering? There is so much -" His voice, having rizen steadily wavered a little. "There is so much work to do," he continued. "If we do not take action, no one will. We must lead the people, draw them to us. They will come once we call. And, should they fail to respond - should they fail us," he said, now holding Grantaire`s gaze. "Then we shall make sure to make such a spectacle to go down in the history books. If they won`t fight with us, we shall make them remember us," he shouted. All the people but Grantaire joined in the cheering. 

He could bear it no more. The foolish, reckless boys, these stupid, silly men, how he hated the fact that he couldn`t bear to lose them. Angry and drunk, he clumsily walked out, but not before staring at the blonde as if memorizing every feature. 

He was standing outside, smoking, when the Leader found him. 

"Your mind is made up then, Apollo?"

He nodded. "I see yours is as well," contempt flooding the six short words. 

He looked up, surprised and unable to stand such coldness from the one he viewed as the sun. "And may I ask why I am treated with so little civility before such a celebratory day?" 

"Do you really need to ask?" the blonde shouted, inches away from him now. 

"Yes, Apollo, I do!"

Enjolras` face resembled the one when Grantaire was on the edge of limits of Enjolras` patience, but this time it was filled with so much more disdain. 

"Perhaps it is the lack of trust in the people. Grantaire, you grew up here too. Have you so little trust in your brothers and sisters? Do you not believe that they will fight for what is good, and true, and just?" Enjolras asked, underlining each of the three attributes. "Or perhaps it is the lack of faith in us, in a movement we spent years building. Even you have been here for as long as we have held meetings. We have given everything - absolutely everything. Jehan," he insisted. "Jehan is beyond himself. I have never seen him so passionate. Bahorel is practically another person. He is responsible, trustworthy. And nevermind what will be done for the people, Grantaire. Have you seen them? How can you bear not to fight for them? They`re starving, and ill, and we can fix it, `taire." 

Grantaire thought he could see tears, but the darkness and candle lights flickering must be playing tricks on him. Surely, the fearless leader couldn`t partake in such human emotion? "Or perhaps," he declared, growing cooler now. "It is the fact that you are unable to trust anything. You believe nothing. You trust no one. Not once, ever, have I seen you speak up for something." There was a pregnant pause. Enjolras had clearly realized that this was a losing battle, and turned on his heel, ready to go in once more and inspire the people to their deaths. 

"I believe in you," he whispered. 

The blonde halted. "Clearly not enough," the he mumbled, though still pretending as if he hadn`t heard.

Finally, he turned. "Come to the barricade tomorrow," he asked. 

"Do you demand it?" Grantaire found himself asking. "Do you even want me to?"

"I ask it of you. As a friend." He held his gaze for a little, forgetting himself. Then the moment was over, and he turned abruptly. 

Grantaire himself left shortly after that, and drank and wept all night. 

And if Grantaire had started drinking earlier than usual on the next particular day, it was only because he could not bear the to lose a certain Apollo.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! 
> 
> This is basically me having a sad hour missing home, and deciding to give my angst to someone else, so I hope you enjoy - it is definitely different from what I usually write!
> 
> I tried relying on the book, but it`s been a while, so it goes under all categories of les mis. 
> 
> Comments and kudos make me giddy with happiness and is much appreciated, but feel free!


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